


The Caregiver

by Violet_Jones



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Roommates, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 00:17:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21419071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violet_Jones/pseuds/Violet_Jones
Summary: Mickey cares for his roommate, Ian, in his time of need.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 54
Kudos: 400





	The Caregiver

“Fuck you, you zombie piece of shit,” Mickey swore, jamming his fingers harshly into the buttons of his game controller, a cigarette dangling precariously from the side of his mouth.

It was weird having to play alone, seeing as he usually had at least one other person on the couch next to him also participating in the animated video carnage. In fact, he was starting to get irritated about how long it was taking Ian and Mandy to return from their lame shopping excursion. They’d promised to pick up food on the way back, and his stomach was starting to rumble.

His roommate and his sister had been BFF since they were teenagers, but lately their relationship was getting on his nerves, and he wasn’t really sure why. He was just a little sick of seeing her around all the time, he supposed. He’d moved out of their childhood home to get away from the Milkoviches after all. And maybe he also liked it when it was just him and Ian hanging out. It was a lot less bitchy when it was only the two of them. Mandy was always laying into him, and then he would lay into her, and it was a vicious cycle they couldn’t escape. Ian, in a lot of ways, was the only person he could ever really just be chill with. At the end of the day, he was the only real friend Mickey had ever had.

He puffed his cigarette absently as he died onscreen, rolling his eyes and falling back into the cushions with a huff. A couple more pulls of smoke, then he stubbed the butt out, thinking about going to the kitchen for some chips or something to tide him over. Just as he got up to stretch his arms and neck, his cell phone went off with Mandy’s name and signature sneer flashing on the screen. He picked it up and swiped to answer.

“’S about time, bitch,” he barked. “Where the hell are you guys?”

“Mick.” Mandy’s voice immediately set him on edge, knowing from the solemn tone that something was wrong.

“What happened?”

“We were in an accident. I’m at the hospital.”

Mickey’s blood ran cold and his heart started hammering in his chest. “You okay? Where’s Ian?”

“I’m fine. Just bruised up, but uh… we got hit on the passenger side…” Mandy started crying and Mickey was filled up with aching disbelief, panicking at the unthinkable. “They won’t let me see him. He’s in surgery or some shit, I don’t really know. He looked bad, Mick.”

“Christ, Mandy, but he’s not…” He couldn’t even say it.

“He’s alive, Mick, but they won’t give me any information since I’m not family. There was a lotta blood. Call the Gallaghers and get your ass over here. Please.”

She hadn’t sounded that frightened or that helpless in a very long time, and it was just as chilling to him as not knowing what the hell was wrong with Ian.

“Course I will. Which hospital?”

Once he’d gotten the name, he nervously stumbled around looking for all the things he needed to get ready to leave the house: shoes, keys, wallet, smokes, hoodie. Should he pack some things for Ian? Mandy said he was covered in blood. He might’ve ruined his clothes. But what if… no, it wasn’t possible. Whatever the injuries, Ian would be fine. He had to be.

Yeah, he should bring things. Just in case. He felt like he was on autopilot as he searched through his contacts and found Ian’s brother’s number, sliding it right, then heading for Ian’s chest of drawers to rifle around for items that seemed appropriate for someone bedridden.

“Mickey?” Lip answered with a tone of distrust. “The hell you callin’ me for, is this a butt dial?”

“Ian’s in the hospital,” he replied without preamble, looking around Ian’s closet floor for a backpack.

“What the fuck happened? Is he okay?”

“I don’t know. I’m about to head over. Mandy’s with him. They had a car accident.”

“Mandy? Is she—”

“She’s fine. She’s freakin’ out cuz they won’t tell her about Ian. Just get the fuck over there, or send Fiona, whatever. Hurry the hell up.”

“Shit. Okay. Fuck.”

Mickey threw Ian’s clothes into the empty bag he’d found, and headed to the bathroom for toiletries as he rattled off the hospital information and ended the call. As soon as he had the toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant in there, he headed out.

Since he didn’t have a car, he had plenty of time to stew in discomfort on the L, hating the anticipation more than anything. He just needed to know for a fact that Ian would be okay. Didn’t want to consider the idea of life without him… or _after_ him. A world without Ian Gallagher just wasn’t at all appealing.

He tried his best to switch his brain off so it would stop getting clouded over with the darkest of thoughts, but it was a mostly fruitless effort. He tapped his foot impatiently and stared out the window, unable to stay distracted even by anything on his phone.

It felt like hours before he finally walked through the doors of the ER, but it had only been about 40 minutes at most since he’d gotten the phone call. He glanced around the waiting room, but didn’t see anyone he recognized, so he headed to the counter.

“Mandy Milkovich and Ian Gallagher,” he said to the nurse sitting there. “They were brought in about an hour ago. Car crash.”

She typed something into the computer. “And you are?”

“Mandy’s brother and Ian’s roommate. Mickey Milkovich.”

“Have a seat. Someone will take you to your sister shortly.”

“What about Ian?” he asked. “How is he? She didn’t know anything.”

“He’s being treated. No family’s arrived yet.”

“Yeah, I know that. His brother’s on the way. Just tell me if he’s okay. Please.”

She nodded. “He’s listed as stable. We’ll have more information for his family soon.”

Mickey exhaled heavily, turned and sat in the nearest hard plastic chair that wasn’t right next to an occupied one. Ten more minutes of no news went by, and he almost chewed half his thumb off in idle agitation. If these assholes made him wait much longer, he was gonna make a scene. This was bullshit.

Before any hospital staff deigned to come get him, Lip showed up looking frazzled, with the youngest Gallagher on his hip and the redheaded sister by his side.

“Mickey,” she called when she spotted him, and he was slightly surprised when she hugged his waist. “How’s Ian?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “They told me he’s stable, but they wouldn’t tell me shit else. Haven’t even taken me to see Mandy. You guys gotta get ‘em to tell you more. I’m about to get pissed.”

Lip nodded. “Just relax. I’ll go sweet talk the nurse. Take Liam.”

And suddenly Mickey had an armful of extra large toddler, but didn’t even question it. Debbie grabbed onto his other arm and leaned against him as they watched Lip at reception. Mickey hated hospitals only slightly less than he hated police stations. They were both full of unhelpful dickheads that treated people with undue contempt and acted like they were better than everyone. They were also places where you got terrible news and could practically smell the suffering wafting from some place beyond closed doors.

He felt like he held his breath until Lip returned.

“The doctors are setting Ian’s leg. He broke it. They’re doin’ an MRI to check his head and his spine.”

“Fuck,” said Mickey. That sounded serious.

“Let’s just wait to hear from his doctor. I told ‘em we need to see Mandy.”

Mickey sat Liam on the chair behind him and wiped a hand down his face, nodding briskly. “Okay.”

A couple minutes later, a lady in scrubs finally came to lead them back through a maze of closed curtains with groaning people behind them, and finally pulled one open to reveal his downcast looking sister.

“Mands,”he said, drawing her attention to them.

“Mickey!” she gasped, her eyes welling up with unshed tears.

He went up and hugged her as best he could with her back against the elevated bed.

“Ow,” she said with a cringe.

“Sorry,” he replied, pulling back. “How you feel?”

“I’m fine, but these stupid bitches won’t tell me shit about Ian. Have you seen him?”

“No,” Lip said, coming around to the other side of her bed, and briefly taking her hand. “He’s getting his leg reset and they have to run some tests, but it sounds like he’ll be okay. I’m about to go hunt down a doctor who knows some shit.” He made eye contact with Mickey once more. “Watch Debs and Liam?”

“I’m 16, Lip,” Debbie reminded him. “Stop being an idiot and go find Ian.”

Lip nodded and took off.

“What the fuck happened?” asked Mickey.

Mandy shook her head. “It happened so fast, like people always say. One second we were laughing, talking shit, the next there was this car slamming into the passenger side as we went through an intersection. The airbags went off, but the door next to Ian fucking caved. He was passed out at the scene. It was so scary, Mick. Blood and glass everywhere. Are you sure he’s okay?”

Mickey glanced at Debbie’s trembling chin before answering as honestly as he could, “I know he’s alive. He’s stable. Hopefully the leg is the worst injury. We’ll know soon.”

“Fuck, what if he—”

“Mandy!” he said a little forcefully, discreetly yanking his head toward Ian’s younger siblings.

“He’ll be okay,” she said, nodding her head and wiping at the few tears that fell.

The afternoon seemed to drag on and on, and by the evening the entire clan of Gallagher siblings was camped out in a waiting area cut out from the hallway at the end of a ward one floor up. Unlike the rest of them in the harsh row chairs, Mandy was sitting in a wheelchair, a pillow propped behind her head and a blanket over her lap. Although they’d been given intermittent updates about Ian’s stability, no one had yet to actually lay eyes on him, as he seemed to be on his own journey through different parts of the building waiting to get tested for shit.

Mickey didn’t know it was possible to be so frustrated over not seeing someone. It wasn’t a sensation he was familiar with. Nearly six hours in, he felt like he was about to lose his fucking mind if something didn’t happen soon. His restless leg wouldn’t stop bouncing, and he’d chewed a few fingernails down to the quick. He was barely paying attention to the conversation around him, but when he did tune in, it was stupid shit he had no interest in anyway. Mandy was the only other one staying as quiet as he was.

“How’d it happen?” he asked her.

“What do you mean?”

“How did the wreck happen? Did you run a fucking light? You never pay enough attention.”

“What the fuck, Mickey?”

“Tell me! Was it your fucking fault?”

“No, actually it wasn’t, asshole! But even if it was, what would you do? Punish me? Just cuz I only sprained my wrist and bruised my chest? You don’t think I feel bad enough that Ian got hurt worse?”

“Shoulda never happened at all.”

“No shit. I don’t need you rubbing it in.”

“Yeah, Mickey,” Lip chimed in, “lay off.”

“You two start bangin’ again when I wasn’t payin’ attention?”

“Jesus, Mickey,” Fiona interjected. “That’s enough!”

Mickey opened his mouth to continue picking a fight, but was welcomely interrupted by a guy in a white lab coat, and half of them shot to their feet, Fiona taking charge and identifying them as Ian’s family.

The doctor spouted off a bunch of technical jargon Mickey barely understood, but what he did understand was that there was no damage to Ian’s spine, which was what they’d most been worried about. Something about musculoskeletal strain, whiplash, concussion, and an impacted fracture of the right tibia and fibula. And at the end of the list of injuries, they were finally told they could see him, two at a time. Mickey exhaled heavily, happy he’d finally lay eyes on Ian soon, but annoyed he’d still have to wait for alllll the Gallaghers to go in before him.

He sat back down next to Mandy, and was pleasantly surprised when Lip of all people, told the Milkoviches to go in when he and Fiona reappeared ten minutes later, ahead of the younger siblings.

Whatever Mickey expected Ian to look like didn’t compare to seeing him so battered and fragile in that small sterile bed. They’d been in fights before and seen each other with busted lips and black eyes, but the whole right side of Ian’s face looked like one big, angry bruise, and he was wearing a neck brace that looked extremely uncomfortable, not to mention the elevated leg in a cast hovering in a sling. Still, a wave of pure relief flooded through Mickey’s entire body just proving with his own two eyes that Ian was at least alive, if not kicking.

“Oh my god, Ian,” Mandy said with a gasp, slowly approaching the bed.

“Mands,” Ian replied, reaching out his hand. “They said you were okay, but I was still worried.”

“We were so worried about you. We’ve been here for hours.”

Ian’s eyes flitted to Mickey then, and he gave a small, slightly pained smile. “Hey, Mick.”

He gave an awkward wave, and more of a grimace than a grin. “You look like shit.”

Ian laughed and clutched his ribs. “Fuck off.”

Mickey felt a little better seeing him amused, and walked to the other side of he bed. “How do you feel?”

“Do I really have to say it?”

“Did they put you on some good painkillers at least?” asked Mandy.

“They’re alright,” said Ian.

“They said your spine’s okay,” noted Mickey. “What’s with the neck brace?”

“Muscles and tendons are strained, I guess. Hopefully I won’t have to wear it home. They’re keeping me here a few days.”

“Ian,” Mandy said tearfully, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I mean it. I’m not mad at you. Don’t be mad at yourself.”

“If we find out the fucker in the other car was drunk or some shit, I’ll fuckin’ hunt him down and kill him myself,” Mickey added venomously.

“Might be more beneficial to sue,” answered Ian. “Maybe we can finally make some real coin.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Mandy agreed. “Guess I’m gonna have to be the one to talk to the cops, anyhow. Maybe they’ll leave you alone for now, since you’re so fucked up.”

Ian tittered. “Small victories.”

“You need anything?” Mickey asked, then lifted the backpack from his shoulder. “I brought you some clothes and your toothbrush and shit.”

“Really? Thanks, Mick. That’s sweet.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Mandy said you got blood all over everything. Didn’t want your ass to have to leave naked. Didn’t know you’d be stayin’.”

“It’s still surprisingly thoughtful of you.”

“‘Ey, I can be fuckin’ thoughtful, douchebag. I’ll even bring you some food tomorrow, so you don’t have to eat that nasty hospital shit.”

“I think Fiona has that covered, but you can bring me some entertainment.”

“Could probly do that.”

Ian’s eyes began drooping, and Mickey gave Mandy a significant look.

“Hey,” Mandy said, nudging Ian’s arm, “try to stay awake a little longer so Debs, and Carl, and Liam can you see you real quick. We’re gonna get outta here.”

“Okay,” Ian replied sleepily.

“See you tomorrow, Gallagher,” added Mickey, squeezing Ian’s upper arm affectionately. “Don’t get hit by any cars in the meantime.”

“Ha ha,” Ian deadpanned.

Mandy leaned over and kissed Ian’s forehead, before following Mickey out. Once in the hallway, she sagged against him.

“Why don’t you stay with me tonight?” he said. “You can have Ian’s bed. We can order some food and I’ll make you eggs in the morning.”

“Yeah, okay,” she answered. “Ugh, I really don’t feel like walking and taking the L.”

“Fuck that, I’m tired too. I’ll order a Lyft.”

Mandy ended up staying for three more days while Ian convalesced at the hospital, and the Milkovich siblings seemed to have an unspoken understanding that neither of them particularly wanted to be alone. Not that they talked about much else, either, they mostly laid around getting high and watching illegally downloaded movies, in between visits to the hospital and Mickey’s bartending shifts. Mandy was taking time off from waiting tables to recover from her minor injuries, half strung out on pain meds, and cracking Mickey up with a combination of weirdness and goofiness.

Fiona and Debbie were the ones who brought Ian home in the eldest sibling’s beat up old Corolla, bringing with them a flurry of high-pitched fussing. Mickey and Mandy watched from the couch with mouths agape as the Gallagher sisters slow-walked Ian from the threshold to his room, acting as human crutches for him as their mouths worked a mile a minute talking about all the things Ian was going to need doing for him while he was recovering. Ian’s facial expression was a mixture of resignation and annoyance, and the Milkoviches exchanged a significant look once the trio was in the bedroom.

About three minutes went by before Mickey’s phone vibrated with a text, amusement taking over as he saw Ian’s name pop up to reveal a simple message: ‘_Help_.’

Mickey chuckled, sighed, and heaved himself off the couch. “Be right back.”

“We’ll work out some kind of shift schedule, and figure out a way to have the car available for whoever’s coming over,” Debbie was saying.

“Liam’ll probly have to come with whoever it is most of the time,” Fiona replied.

Ian eyed him pleadingly where he stood in the doorway, already propped up in bed, looking exhausted.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Mickey said forcefully, grabbing the women’s attention. “What’s this about a shift schedule?”

“For takin’ care of Ian,” answered Fiona.

“Why?” asked Mickey.

“Um, because he’s gonna need help for the next week or two,” she said. “He needs near-total bed rest until he’s stronger.”

“I think I can handle it,” he replied.

“Mickey,” Debbie stepped in, “we’re talking about nursing. Making him food, regulating meds, helping him bathe, and whatever else comes up.”

“Uh, yeah, I get it. We’ll stock up on Campbell’s soup and Gatorade. The rest is easy.”

“But, Mickey—” Fiona began.

“You sure, Mick?” Ian interrupted. “I might be a pain in the ass for a while.”

“What, you think I can’t handle a little ass pain?” joked Mickey.

Ian chortled, while his sisters groaned.

“I'm serious,” said Ian.

Mickey sighed. “So am I, Gallagher. I got this. We don’t need your entire family runnin’ around here like chickens with their heads cut off, bendin’ over backwards for your invalid ass. I’m here during the day anyway, and I’ll get Kev to give me the rest of the nights off this week. No big deal.”

Ian’s smile was both sweet and full of relief. “That sounds really good. And that means you guys don’t have to go outta your way to add more shit to figure out how to do in a day. No new schedules or anything. I’ll be able to relax better.”

Fiona looked between them skeptically, but finally sighed in defeat. “Fine. I’m still gonna have to come take you to physical therapy. You need a car for that.”

Ian nodded. “That’s fine. That way you can check up on me, and ask the doctor a million questions and all the shit you love to do, okay?”

“And bring you leftovers that aren’t soup?” she asked with a snort.

“Sure,” he conceded.

“You can pay me if you want,” Mickey threw in.

Fiona, Debbie, and Ian all flipped him off in unison, so he laughed, shook his head, and left the room.

Mandy was hanging over the back of the couch, obviously listening to what was said in the bedroom, and she looked more shocked than anyone at what Mickey had just offered himself up for.

“You really gonna take care of him?” she asked, voice laced with dubious delight.

Mickey shrugged, falling back down into the cushions next to her. “Yeah, why not? What’s the big fuckin’ deal?”

She shook her head, smirking. “It’s just… it’s _you_. You’ve never looked after anyone before. Only way you ever looked after _me_ was by delivering beatdowns to guys that fucked me over.”

“It ain’t fuckin’ rocket science, and he’s my friend. I heat up food, give him water and pills, put a fuckin’ trash bag on his leg and let him lean on my arm in the shower. Anyone could do that shit.”

“Ohhh, the shower, huh?” Mandy said, waggling her eyebrows. “That why you’re doin’ this?”

Mickey scrunched his face up in a scowl. “Fuck off, bitch.”

She giggled and rolled her eyes, looking back toward the television.

The sisters Gallagher stayed long enough to make a big-ass pot of spaghetti, feed their brother, and give Mickey an unnecessary rundown of how to look after Ian.

“Don’t worry,” said Mandy at the end of it, “I’ll make sure Mickey doesn’t kill him.”

The next few days saw Mickey astounding everyone around him, his attentiveness toward Ian’s recovery outdoing even Florence Nightingale herself.

Being that Kevin, the owner of the bar Mickey worked at, was also the Gallaghers' long-time neighbor, and a kind of weird uncle to Ian, there was no problem getting time off from work to play nursemaid, even though he did receive a few taunts for it over the phone.

He waited on Ian hand and foot, making good on the promise to arm an entire cabinet shelf with different canned varieties of Campbell’s soup which he microwaved to perfect temperature, also daring to cook such straight-out-of-the-box stove top foods as Kraft mac & cheese, Idahoan instant mashed potatoes, Rice-A-Roni, and Top Ramen noodles. If Ian had any problems with all the processed foods he was living off of, he never voiced them.

He set alarms on his phone to dole out Ian’s pain meds with the fancy little cups of froufrou yogurt the redhead loved. He helped him navigate all the non-shitting bathroom routines, and helped him stay upright in the shower when he bathed, keeping his eyes averted as much as possible. Sort of. It was kind of hard sometimes, since the tub was slick, and the occasional slip would happen, or the ‘I can’t reach my back too good’ moments. But he didn’t take advantage and ogle Ian in like a pervy way. Mickey was only human, and his best friend was attractive. That had always been obvious. There was a time and a place for discreet appreciation of Ian in various states of undress, and this wasn’t one of them.

He also helped Ian with the ‘homework’ his physical therapist gave him between the sessions Fiona took him to. His mobility was improving somewhat, but it was hard getting a hang of the crutches with his neck strain and the general stiffness of his upper body.

Mickey even went so far as to bring the flat screen in from the living room, mounting it on Ian’s dresser across from the foot of the bed. He also crammed an old stuffed recliner into a corner of the room to keep Ian company, marathoning movies and TV shows until Ian fell asleep and sometimes beyond. Ian scoffed that there was plenty of room for Mickey to lie in the queen sized bed next to him, but Mickey was too afraid of jostling his aching, healing body around, or accidentally kicking at him.

“You know, you’ve really been going above and beyond the requirements of anyone’s idea of the roommate code,” Ian told him at the end of the first week.

“Fuck off,” Mickey replied evasively.

He knew everyone thought him out of character for his careful care of Ian in his weakened state, but the reality was that it just felt natural to him. It wasn’t putting him out any really. He normally didn’t spend so much time in the kitchen, but that was about it. The apartment came with a dishwasher, so he threw everything in there at the end of every few days.

“I’m just trying to say thank you, asshole,” said Ian. “You’ve been a really good friend to me and I definitely owe you one. Or two, even.”

“One or two of what?” Mickey asked with arched eyebrow.

Ian rolled his eyes at the innuendo. “We’ll know whenever it comes up I guess.”

“It’s no big deal, man, seriously. If it were, I wouldn’t do it, and you know that’s the fuckin’ truth.”

“Yeah, I suppose so, but still. It’s really… nice of you.”

Mickey snorted. “Yeah, that’s me… _nice_.”

“You are! You hide it behind layers of tough guy bravado, but I know better. And besides, sparing me from the babying of Fiona and Debs at all hours of the day is a relief. I’d rather have you invading my space than them. I can relax more, even though I feel like shit all the time.”

“I gotta go back to work tomorrow, though. You sure you don’t want me to get one of them to come over?”

“Nah, you’ll be here until 6, and Mandy said she’d stop by. I hope that craphole diner doesn’t fire her for being out for so long. Her wrist is still too weak to be carrying trays around.”

“Isn’t that illegal and shit?” asked Mickey.

“Yeah, but since when has that stopped some seedy South Side spot from doing whatever the hell they want to their employees and getting away with it?”

“I know her manager. I’ll go over there and beat some fuckin’ sense into him if he tries to pull some shit.”

Ian laughed. “Course you will.”

“What about you? How’s that queen at the Center gettin’ along without your ass?”

Ian worked as a social worker at a mental health center, and specialized in helping at risk LGBTQIwhatever-the-fuck youth get low cost or free treatment. He ran general groups and rainbow flag groups, and the teens fucking loved him. Practically saw him as some kind of homo Superman or gay Jesus.

“Stephen’ll be fine. They have a temp there dealing with my caseload. It’s just nice to have a job where I actually get paid while I’m recovering. The hospital bills are gonna be shitty enough, even with my insurance. Hopefully I’ll be outta this fuckin’ bed and on my crutches without issues in the next week or two. I guess we’ll see.”

The next night, Mickey returned to work with a preoccupied mind, and he got razzed by a few different people for having a thousand yard stare and being unresponsive half the time when he was called for. He just couldn’t pry his thoughts away from the image of Ian lying in that bed back home, lacking the usual energy and charm he always exuded in daily life. It was strange to see that different side of him… the one that was forced to be immobile and stagnant. His meds didn’t allow for enough focus to even read or write. He had to be going half out of his mind by now.

Distracted or not, he could bartend a sparsely patronized dive bar in his sleep, so he muddled through until he could kick everyone out at 2 AM, and perhaps half-assed the closing duties a little, so he could make it back to the apartment a bit sooner than he usually did.

The lights were all out when he arrived, the flickering television in Ian’s room casting the only illumination. Ian was asleep and drooling on his pillow as expected, but Mandy was also still there, passed out in Mickey’s recliner. He sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward, hands on his hips. He hadn’t slept in his own room in days. Ian had developed a side effect to one of the meds that made him have to piss like a racehorse every few hours or less, so Mickey had started staying in the chair and helping Ian to the bathroom in the wee hours. He supposed Mandy could do it, but he had no idea how Ian felt about showing her his junk. What was the gay guy/straight girl best friend code? Mickey’d never had a best straight girlfriend before. He hadn’t even ever really had a best friend at all, period, before Ian.

He walked over to the bed to check Ian’s comfort, like he was some kind of expert nurse down at the clinic or some shit, not even really sure what he was looking for… obstructions? Safety issues? He basically smoothed out the sheets and tucked Ian in tighter… made sure he had water in the glass by the bedside. Made sure the crutches he still sucked at using were close by. Then he went to turn away and head to his own bedroom, but a soft, clammy hand latched onto his, and a raspy voice said, “Where you goin’?”

Mickey turned back to face Ian, who was blinking slowly up at him while wiping at his mouth. “You need the bathroom?”

Ian shook his head. “No. I mean, yeah.”

Mickey snorted. “You havin’ delayed brain trauma there Rain Man?”

Ian yawned and flipped him off. “Just help me up and don’t say anything else.”

Mickey obliged, throwing back the covers he’d just fixed and helping Ian up. Ian stumbled into his side, and they slowly ambled to the toilet halfway down the hall. While he peed, Mickey stood behind him with his arms crossed, vaguely looking at a patch of wall over Ian’s right shoulder until he heard the stream stop and Ian turned to face him. It was only a few steps to the sink, but Mickey still held onto Ian’s hips until he could lean on the counter for support.

Ian snickered at Mandy as Mickey helped him back into bed. “Guess she stole your spot, huh?”

Mickey shrugged. “Bitch has had a habit of stealing my shit since she was little, man. Anytime she liked something I had, which was rare as hell, she’d swipe it when I wasn’t payin’ attention. Then we’d have to fight for it, but she’d always win. She plays fuckin’ dirty.”

Ian giggled. “Wouldn’t expect anything less from the only female Milkovich in that shithouse.”

“Anyway…” said Mickey as he finished tucking Ian back in, “I guess this is where I leave you.”

He turned to go, but Ian stopped him yet again. “Stay.”

Mickey looked back and gestured around. “Where? I ain’t sleepin’ on the floor. Too old to hurt my back like that. I’ll get a crick and be miserable for like a week.”

Ian patted the ample space beside him on the bed with one of his big hands. “I already told you there’s enough room here, Mick.”

“And I already told you I won’t be responsible for accidentally re-injuring you.”

“I promise you won’t hurt me, you big baby. Mandy isn’t strong enough to help me move around much. We had a bit of a debacle earlier when I had to crutch it to the john.”

Mickey’s eyebrows jumped sky-high. “You hurt yourself?”

Ian smiled through his eye-roll. “No, Mick. I promise I’m fine. But I almost fell. She just barely caught me. Anyway, turns out, I actually do need _you_ in particular, so come on.” He patted the mattress again.

Mickey huffed. “Fine, but I’m stayin’ on top of the covers.”

“What are you afraid I’ll steal your virtue?” Ian laughed.

“No, asshat, but there’s less chance of me… I don’t know… kickin’ you and shit.”

Ian’s eyebrows scrunched up. “My bad side is the other side, dumb dumb.”

“Over the covers or nothin’, Firecrotch,” he replied pointing his finger. “I’ll be back.”

He went to his bedroom to change into his night clothes and grabbed another pillow and blanket from the closet, since Mandy had his.

Ian’s grin was so self-satisfied, Mickey kinda wanted to punch it off.

“Night, Mickey,” he said with a cutesy little lilt.

“Fuck off,” gruffed Mickey, turning to face toward Mandy instead, and settling under the worn felt covers with his socks still on.

When he awoke the next morning, his sister was gone, and Ian was still asleep. He reached for his phone and saw a few messages from Mandy. The first one was a picture of Mickey curled up toward Ian, just shy of touching him, as they slept peacefully on the bed in the dim yellow morning light. Below that, it said, “Awwwwwwwww,” and Mickey rolled his eyes before he wiped the sleep out of them. The next message informed him that she’d left eggs in the microwave. He replied back with a middle finger emoji and a thumbs up emoji, and locked his screen, tossing the phone back on the bed before turning over to check on Ian.

His face looked soft and unburdened, but the pain meds were probably wearing off by now, and it’d been a few hours since they’d woken up for a bathroom break. Still, Mickey was reluctant to disturb the peace of Ian’s slumber… until he shook himself out of his own daze and realized that he’d been staring at his roommate for over 5 minutes at least, and that that was fucking weird.

“‘Ey!” he said a little too loudly, nudging Ian’s arm with his fist and shaking him roughly. “Cinderella! Wake the fuck up.”

Ian grumbled and smacked his lips before licking them. “Cinderella?” he slurred in a confused tone.

Mickey sat up and adjusted his clothes. “You know, that Disney bitch that sleeps too much.”

Ian cackled breathily. “You mean Aurora? Sleeping Beauty?”

“Whatever-the-fuck,” said Mickey, sliding out of bed and walking over to Ian’s side. He held out his hand without a word, waiting for Ian to take it and haul himself up.

“Even _Snow White_ had a sleeping plot point, but _Cinderella_ definitely didn’t.”

“Yeah, alright, Walt,” Mickey replied as they hobbled to the toilet once more. “Sorry I ain’t intimately familiar with all the Mouse cartoons. One, my childhood sucked, and two, I’m not a goddamn girl.”

“Oh, you’re just begging for me to start calling you Mickey Mou—OW!” Ian hollered loudly as Mickey punched the arm on his healthy side hard enough to halt the words coming out of his annoying mouth.

Mickey snickered as they arrived in front of the bowl. “’S whatchoo get.”

“Jesus, I guess this means you’re gonna stop treating me like a delicate flower now.”

Mickey did his usual staring at the wall while Ian pulled his dick out. “Guess so, Chuckles.”

“I’m pretty sure you meant Sleeping Beauty,” Ian continued as the stream of pee began. “You think I’m pretty like a Disney princess.”

Mickey gulped and bit his lip. “I think anytime you’re unable to flap your trap is a swell time for me to be dealin’ with you, Ariel, now shake your cock and wash your hands. Other people have necessary bodily functions too.”

“Awww,” Ian responded, flushing the toilet and turning back around. He patted Mickey on the cheek with his unwashed hand. “You got one reference right.”

Mickey batted his arm away and made a face as he wiped at his cheek. “Nasty fucker. Get off me.”

Ian laughed in delight as he washed up, and Mickey still helped him back to bed before he went back to relieve himself.

Afterwards, he made his way to the kitchen and heated up the cold scrambled eggs Mandy left, throwing cheese slices on white bread and tossing them into the toaster oven. Fiona had gifted them with trays to eat off of, and he returned to the bedroom with their meals and two glasses of apple juice (Ian’s favorite, which Mickey definitely clowned him about regularly).

“These eggs are reheated and Mandy made ‘em, so they’re gonna be rubbery as hell, but fuck it,” he said as he sat Ian’s tray on his lap.

Ian sniggered. “Buttfuck it.”

Mickey took it upon himself to return back to the corner chair vacated by his sister. “High-larious,” he deadpanned.

Ian let out a whine. “God, I can’t wait to smoke weed again. You guys are being ridiculous about that shit, by the way.”

For once in his life, Mickey wasn’t being blasé about mixing substances, mainly because Fiona had threatened his balls if she let Ian do anything to jeopardize his recovery, specifically ordering a policy of no weed and no booze until the med cycle was completed. What could he say? The Gallagher sisters were two of the only women he just didn’t have it in him to cross. They were part of a family that basically raised themselves, just like the Milkoviches had, and there was a certain amount of mutual respect between them based on that alone.

“Yeah, well, you’re gettin’ dosed with better shit anyway, so don’t think about it.”

Ian let out another grating whine. “But Miiiick… I feel like I’m about to go outta my fuckin’ mind! You know me. I gotta move! Gotta do stuff. I don’t just lay around all the time. I’m fucking itchy, and I’m bored as shit, and this fucking sucks! If it were you, you probly woulda busted your cast off already and downed enough pill varieties to ignore the fact that you’re not healed enough for it.”

Mickey continued shoveling his food in. “Maybe so, but you ain’t me, apple juice boy, and this high-pitched whining BS is really unattractive, so shut the fuck up and eat your shitty breakfast.”

Ian took a bite of eggs, grimacing and chasing it with cheese toast, then he gave a little snort, muttering under his breath, “Sleeping Beauty.”

Mickey chucked the remote at him. “Pick something.”

They passed the day in strikingly similar fashion to the days before it… Ian agitated at his bedridden status, amped up with nowhere to go… Netflix constantly streaming in the background… Mickey looking for other ways to distract him… digging out cards and board games that Ian had pilfered from the Gallagher basement… asinine conversations between trips to the bathroom… more boxed meals… physical therapy exercises… daily phone call to Fiona… and when evening descended, Mickey was due back at the bar for another shift, so Mandy swapped places with him once more.

“‘Ey,” he said, grabbing her arm as she tried to squeeze past him in the entryway, “be fuckin’ careful when you’re helpin’ him to the bathroom.”

She huffed, rolled her eyes, and scowled as she pulled her arm away, “Excuse me?”

“He told me he almost fell over yesterday when you took him to piss. Fuckin’ watch it, or he’ll end up hurt again.”

“Fuck you, dickwad, I didn’t purposely try to drop him! I can’t help the fact that he has like 60 pounds of muscle on me!”

“Just make sure he uses the crutches, and then follow behind with your hands on his hips. Think you can handle that?”

“Obviously!”

“And don’t look at his dick. That shit is disrespectful.”

“Oh, please. Who the hell died and made you his keeper anyway, huh? I love him just as much as you do.”

Mickey’s brow knitted together and he found himself sputtering incoherently. “Wha—what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Mandy just rolled her eyes again and grunted her exasperation, before studying Mickey’s face and softening for some reason. “It means that he’s my best friend too, douchebag. Just like he’s yours. I know you don’t like to share, but… them’s the breaks. You think I’d let him get hurt on my watch? I’m more likely to get injured trying to save him from falling, okay?”

Now Mickey just felt all kinds of weird. And why was he being so overprotective anyway? Mandy was right. Living situation aside, they each had equal standing in Ian’s life, and his sister, clumsy as she may be, wouldn’t let anything happen to Ian if she could help it.

“Yeah,” he answered, now distracted by his own thoughts. “Yeah, okay.”

And with that, he made his way out the door.

That night when he got back, Mandy was still awake in the recliner, and it seemed as if every surface in the room was littered with Chinese takeout boxes, including Ian’s sleeping form. There also appeared to be two crushed Four Loko cans on the floor and one in Mandy’s hand.

“The fuck, Mandy!”

Her head snapped up and her glazed eyes met his. “Shhhhh!” she replied with a finger to her mouth. “Don’t wake him up, you dick.”

Mickey glanced at Ian again, knowing from his expression that he was deep in the REM cycle right then, so he turned back to his sister.

“You give him fuckin’ alcohol?” He crossed his arms like a stern parent, a murderous look on his face.

Mandy’s face contorted into disdain as well. “For your information, NO, asshole! He begged me to give him one, and I said no. Like I need that bitch, Fiona, up my ass, or _you_ for that matter. God, you’ve become like some weird fairy godmother since Ian got hurt. Lighten the hell up.”

She threw back the drink in her hand and chugged until it was gone, then crushed the can and threw it on the ground with the others.

“Nice,” said Mickey. “Real fuckin’ nice. Just treat our apartment like a goddamn frat house, you trashy hoebag.”

Mandy tucked her legs in to close the recliner and jumped to her feet so she could get in his face. But when she stepped up, the words she said were not what he expected. It was her turn to hurl some choice insults at him, but instead she boomed, “Who are you, and what the hell have you done with my actual brother?”

He reached up to give her a titty-twister, but she managed to side-step it and kick him in the shin before he could.

“I’m gonna crash on your bed tonight,” she continued. “Fuck that chair bullshit.”

“‘Ey!” he called out as she made her way down the hall. “You better get back here and clean up this mess!” She threw up a middle finger over her shoulder. “I’m not jokin’ bitch!” She slammed the door at the other end. “Goddammit!”

He glanced back over at Ian, exhaling deeply when he found him still fast asleep, his mouth slightly open. He wiped a hand down his face and bent down to pick up the trash, before gathering all the takeout boxes together to see what was left. He took it all into the kitchen and had a midnight meal standing over the sink, popped open the last Four Loko his sister had left in the fridge and went back to Ian’s bedroom to find a horror movie to watch.

Instead of taking the recliner this time, he got back into the bed again. Ian was probably due to wake up in the next hour for a pee break anyway. So he found a haunted house flick and waited.

Like clockwork, Ian’s eyes snapped open just as the story was getting decent. “Mick?”

“Yeah, yeah, I gotcha…”

To be honest, Mickey was getting a little tired of this routine, but damned if he’d ever let Ian know that. It wasn’t for much longer, anyway, and whatever… Ian already felt bad enough for being what he considered a burden. Mickey’d always been a terrible sleeper anyway. And being a night owl, he wasn’t much put out, really. Yeah, playing nursemaid was unglamorous, monotonous shit, but what the hell else would he be doing? Probably still sitting around watching TV. He didn’t socialize outside the house much when he wasn’t behind the bar. He didn’t really date. He didn’t even hook up that often. He was probably the world’s most boring 26-year-old, in fact. So upon reconsideration, cursorily hauling Ian back and forth to the bathroom a handful of times a day wasn’t so bad.

Once he settled Ian back into the bed, he made a move back toward the recliner.

“What’re you doing?” asked Ian.

“Mandy’s in my fuckin’ bed, and since I don’t have a little bell for you to ring, I’m posting up in the chair again.”

“Oh my god,” groaned Ian, “will you please stop being such a fucking weirdo?”

“What? I’m doin’ you like the billionth favor this month. Why’re you yellin’ at me?”

“Because… you’re acting like… like some homophobe or something.”

Mickey barked out a disbelieving laugh. “Homophobe? How the hell does that shake out?”

“We’ve established that you can sleep in the same bed without hurting me. Why the hell are you choosing to sleep in the recliner instead of just in the fucking bed? It’s like you’re worried about my roaming hands or something.”

“That’s a lotta leapin’ you’re doin’ with that logic. And where does it even link up to fuckin’ _homophobia_?”

“Cuz gay guys usually don’t get weird about sleeping in the same bed with other gay guys? You wouldn’t even get under the covers last night!”

Mickey sighed. “Why do I have to explain everything a thousand times to your stubborn ass? I’m just lookin’ out for you. I set up everything these last couple weeks to best benefit your royal invalidness! And you still gotta invent some crazy reason to get mad at me. Can you please try to tone down the drama just by like a couple notches? Cuz if there’s anything that’ll make the dormant homophobe in me jump out, it’s acts of drama queenery.”

Ian just stared at him for a spell, before bursting into laughter. Mickey’s indignation flared up for a second, before dissipating along with Ian’s amusement.

“Mick,” he said once he’d calmed down, “if that were true, you’d be prejudiced against yourself, not only for taking it up the ass, but mainly for being the most dramatic person I’ve ever known that didn’t have a severe mood disorder.”

“I ain’t dramatic!” Mickey fumed.

Ian tossed back the covers on the left side of the bed. “Then get in the fucking bed and stop yappin’ about it, you giant baby!”

“Jesus Christ, if it’ll get you to shut the fuck up and go back to sleep, then…” he dived onto the mattress, secretly pleased with the small grimace Ian gave as he bounced around. Mickey finished by throwing the covers over himself and giving a little flourish with his hands. “You happy now?”

Ian’s look was less amused and more pointed. “Yes.”

Mickey grabbed the remote and unpaused the movie without another word.

Not even a full minute passed, before Ian softly queried, “Whatcha watchin’?”

Mickey rolled his eyes, took a deep breath, and counted to ten before responding.

It went on like that the next few nights. He’d gone from roommate down the hall in his own personal space, to roommate sharing a bed that provided inches between him and his friend at most. There was no funny business about it, until the morning Mickey phased into consciousness, pulled from a sweet kind of dream he’d already lost his grasp on, and realized he was sporting one of the most prominent boners of his entire life. And not only was he painfully hard, but his cock was definitely poking up against something solid. As he finally forced his eyes open, he was startled to find two big green eyes staring back at him, and as he lowered his gaze, his brain was able to confirm that what his dumb dick was actually pressed up against was Ian’s left thigh.

His thoughts were still so fuzzy, he wasn’t sure exactly which emotion to focus on as his eyes darted comically from where his hard-on was pulsating beneath the sheets, to Ian’s face, and back again. Horror? Embarrassment? Excitement? Confusion? He wasn’t sure how to read whatever was going on in Ian’s head either, on account of this total mindfuck of his first waking minutes.

It was Ian who finally broke the spell.

“Well, good morning to you too.” He smiled big and goofy then, and Mickey’s brain finally seemed to catch up to what was happening in real time. “You happy to see me or somethin’?”

He finally rolled himself away onto his back, and Ian laughed when all that did for Mickey was make a very obvious tent form in the sheets, so that he had to completely turn onto his other side to get it out of view.

“Fuck off, man, I was havin’ a dream!” he spoke at long last.

“I _bet_ you were.” Ian still sounded way too amused, and it was kind of infuriating.

Mickey reached behind himself for a loose pillow and haphazardly thwacked it at Ian’s face. “Stop fuckin’ laughin’, you dick.”

“Hey, my dick’s not the one hole-hunting right now.”

Mickey’s uncontrollable laughter betrayed him, and he adjusted himself as best he could before rolling back over, making sure to be far enough away not to brush up against his roommate again.

“That’s real sexy terminology, Gallagher. Very classy and mature.”

“Yes, because I always aim for classy and mature. Cocks have minds of their own, and they’re very one-track.”

“And what’s the cock-brain stream of consciousness sound like?”

“Touch, touch, touch, squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, hole, hole, hole, wet, warm, tight, tighter, harder, hotter, deeper, faster, bigger, better, cum, cum, cum, ahhhhh.”

Mickey curled up into a ball and clutched at his stomach as he cackled at Ian’s antics, which had the fortunate side effect of deflating his potentially sticky situation. In reality, it was good that the whole thing elicited a joking reaction from Ian. The last thing he wanted was some random awkward morning wood to come between them—er—to sour their dynamic.

So when their laughter finally died down, Mickey was able to openly look at Ian again with sincerity. “Sorry for pokin’ ya.”

Ian shook his head and shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“Cool,” said Mickey, relieved that his erection had finally flagged completely. “Guess it’s time to drain _your_ lizard, and not in the fun way.”

And just like that, their routine was back on track.

The next day, Mickey woke up first, happy to discover that his cock was under control, and the only part of him that was touching Ian was his foot.

He studied Ian’s resting countenance, wondering how sick he must be of always sleeping on his back these days, propped up higher than he normally would be, so that his neck had more room to loll around into achey positions. He was gonna need some massage therapy on top of everything else when all was said and done.

He knew he should get up and maybe take a little time to himself, which had been severely lacking lately. At least hang out in the kitchen and brew some coffee or something, fuck around on his phone. But he couldn’t bring himself to move an inch, and his eyes just stayed stuck on Ian’s face as all his Ian thoughts swirled around in his head.

It was fucking weird, but he suddenly realized that he actually really enjoyed sleeping in the same bed with Ian… sharing a room… seeing his face first thing in the morning. Not even in a sexual way, but just in a kind of comfortably intimate kind of way. He’d never been one to really have that in his life, and since he’d started taking care of Ian, their trust in each other had grown exponentially. They were really and truly _close_. And being close to Ian—it was just good. _He_ felt good because of it. He was content.

And all this closeness was going to come to an end very soon, because Ian was finally improving in bigger strides every day, and there would be no reason for Mickey to be sleeping in Ian’s bed beyond the culmination of the healing process. This privilege now had a ticking clock on it.

Mickey had the night off, but Mandy still insisted on hanging around all day. It was like they’d somehow acquired a third roommate, even though they hadn’t solicited one. He wasn’t sure what exactly his sister was afraid of back at her own place, with her own roommates, but Mickey suspected some kind of mild reversion to childhood since the car accident. He didn’t know if it was him, or Ian, or a combination of both that made her feel safe, but it was the only explanation he could think of.

That afternoon, Ian was napping, and the two siblings were on the couch, binging some crap from a pirated streaming site on an old laptop and eating cereal, when Mandy randomly decided to crack her yap and speak her mind.

“So… you ready to talk about it yet?”

“Huh?” he asked, completely at a loss.

“Your feelings… for a certain,” she tilted her head and nodded toward the hallway, “ailing redhead?”

Mickey did a double-take so swift it could give him a whiplash to rival Ian’s. “The fuck’re you talkin’ about?”

Mandy exhaled long and loud, sitting her bowl down on the coffee table and turning the volume down on the computer. “I can’t tell if you’re actually this fucking thick, or you’re just afraid to tell me the truth.”

His face couldn’t possibly be expressing anything other than total bewilderment. “I 100% have no clue what the hell you mean.”

She turned to face him more fully, crossing her legs underneath her, and cracking her knuckles with a stretch of her arms. “What I _mean_ is that your behavior towards Ian is really fucking obvious. Like, big flashing neon sign obvious. Like, you formed a fan club and named yourself the president obvious.”

Mickey sat his bowl down and rubbed his palms against his eyes. “What the fuck are you tryin’ to say, Mandy?”

“Ugh,” she spit, smacking him upside the head, and saying her next words haltingly for emphasis, like he was a child with a learning disability. “You. Are. In loooove. With Ian.”

He scoffed and pushed her arm away from him. “Fuck off.”

“No! I won’t fuck off! You are! You _so_ are!”

He shook his head vigorously, then shook it some more, but whatever words he wanted to say just seemed to stick in his throat, and his mouth wouldn’t actually form any sounds.

“I’ve been able to see it for like a while now,” she continued. “Even the Gallaghers can fuckin’ see it.”

“Gallaghers? What Gallaghers?”

“All of them! Fiona and Debs, especially. They think it’s just a matter of time, and I agree.”

“What’s a matter of time? What the hell are you sayin’?”

“Okay, douchebag, if you really need it spelled out for you… maybe it’s better if you just answer my questions, and then if you have even like a sliver of a fucking brain in there, you’ll be able to connect the dots yourself. First of all, _why_ have you been taking care of Ian so diligently this whole time?”

“Cuz he’s my goddamn friend, and we live together. I’d be an asshole if I didn’t help him out!”

“Sure, helping out would be a totally nice, normal roommate thing to do. You’re right, but we’re not talking about just helping out, are we? You’ve been putting your own life on hold to be there every possible second. Doing whatever you can at all hours of the day and night. That’s more than any random roomie would do. That’s more than some family would do. So that leads to question two: What is it that makes you go that extra mile? Why do you care so much?”

“Christ, Mandy, I don’t know, I just do. He’s my best fuckin’ friend. I ain’t ever had a friend like that.”

“Okay, and have you ever found yourself attracted to him at all?”

Mickey didn’t even really need to think about that one. “Obviously. The guy’s objectively hot. I’d be blind not to find him attractive.”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s super hot, but do you wanna bang him?”

“I—we—I—it never came up! We were always just… _friends_, I don’t know.”

“So that’s a big yes.”

“I don’t wanna bang my best friend!”

“You do! Not only do you wanna bang him, you wanna date him. Because you love him.” Her smile was both wide and smug, and he kind of wanted to smother it off her face.

Mickey jumped up from the couch, hands on his hips as he started pacing in front of the sofa. “This is so fuckin’ stupid. I swear to god, Mandy…”

“I’ve seen the way you look at him, Mick. You never look at anyone like that. Ever. You’re telling me that you haven’t loved every annoying minute you’ve looked after him these last couple weeks? That you haven’t been aching to take away his pain? That you weren’t devastated when I called you that day, thinking you might not ever see him again? That you haven’t been ecstatic to help him get better, because deep down you knew it was your second chance?”

It was a kind of thunderbolt of lightning that came crashing into his brain as her words really registered, resonating in undulating waves from the tips of his hair down to his toenails. His eyebrows were stuck up high on his forehead, and he finally looked her dead in the eye.

“Oh.”

That was all he managed to say.

He sat back down, because he didn’t know what the hell else to do with himself.

“Yeah,” his sister affirmed. “So is this starting to make sense now?”

“How long has this… how long do you think I…”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“I just never… I never thought about it. He doesn’t see me like that.”

“How do you know?” she queried.

“What do you mean?”

“You just _finally_ realized the obvious yourself, so how the hell would you know the way _he_ feels about you really?”

“Did he say somethin’ to you?” His heart sped up at the possibility.

Mandy snorted. “No, he hasn’t said anything to me, and neither did you. But… I never would’ve brought it up if I didn’t think you have a shot.”

“Pfft, did you see the last guy he dated? Fucker was like a 7 foot tall gym rat from Miami Beach.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ian has never had a type, physically speaking. Actually, he’s probly banged just as many, or more homely dudes, and old dudes—”

“You callin’ me homely?”

“No. You’re somewhere between the golden Miami guy and that greasy diner guy.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “And definitely way hotter than saggy old moneybags guy!”

“Thanks a fuckin’ lot.”

“Whatever! Look, you’ve gotta say something. _Soon_. You have these feelings. You have to deal with them. And you have to find out if he has them too.”

“Why are you even helpin’ me with this shit? This is like the longest, realest conversation we’ve ever had.”

“I told you before, I love him as much as you do… but like, in a less boner-y way, I guess… and I love you too. We both do. If there’s anyone who’s a sucker for some unsolicited TLC, it’s Ian. And you gave him like a metric ton of that this month alone. So this is where I leave you.”

Within minutes, he was sitting there on the couch all alone wondering what in the fuck just happened. He stared silently into space for as long as he could stand it, then finally got up to clean the kitchen, deciding as he loaded the dishwasher that tonight he’d start sleeping in his own bed again. He needed to clear his head. All this caregiving and closeness was confusing him. It was making things seem a certain way that they weren’t. The intimacy was distorting his perception of their friendship. Because that’s all that was between them. A really good friendship. Even if Mickey did decide that he maybe could stand making something more out of it, there was no way Ian would reciprocate. Whatever Mandy said about Ian’s questionable dating history, the fact remained that they were two gay men of similar age and circumstances living in a thousand square foot space, and they’d never had so much as a drunken hook-up. That really didn’t bode well for his chances.

He’d never actually known anybody who’d gone from platonic friends to lovers. That shit was invented by girly rom-coms that had nothing to do with reality, let alone the dynamics between two men. And besides, he couldn’t fuck up the _actual_ relationship he had with Ian, which was extremely important to him, as he’d come to realize when he’d almost lost him. Mickey liked having a friend. A friend that wasn’t his sister with all their fucking Milkovich baggage. A friend that was a guy who liked other guys, and grew up in the same neighborhood as him, and didn’t have to hide anymore. He wasn’t gonna find another friend like Ian. So he’d have to learn how to deal with this shit and move past it. He wasn’t gonna be an awkward asshole and ruin everything.

And he liked his apartment too. It was a good place, for a decent price, and the landlord left them alone. They were good roommates. They’d created a nice, delicate ecosystem. He couldn’t disturb or poison the atmosphere.

It was Ian’s second full day crutching around completely on his own, and he was doing well, so after Mickey finished in the kitchen, he straightened up the living room, and retreated to his own bedroom for a change. Once it was time for Ian’s nighttime meds, he steeled himself as best he could and gave himself an internal pep talk, then made his way to Ian’s bedside once more.

He was sure Ian had never smiled at him so sweetly as he did when he saw him enter the room that night, and it made him break out in goosebumps.

“Where ya been, Mick?”

He shrugged and shuffled his feet in the doorway. “Cleanin’ and shit.”

“I guess I’m gonna have to do all the chores for a while to make it up to you.”

“Nah,” said Mickey, making his way to the nightstand. “It’s all good.” He shook out the pills Ian needed and set them aside. “You need more water. And some yogurt.”

He grabbed the empty glass sitting out and turned to leave, but Ian gripped his wrist.

“Mick.”

“Be right back!” He pulled his arm away, his words a little too loud, and blindly made his way to the fridge.

Jesus, he was already acting like a total freak. Ian was gonna think… he wasn’t sure _what_ Ian was gonna think, but he was gonna know something’s up. Shit. He dawdled as long as possible as he poured water into the glass and pondered which flavor of cultured milk goop to bring. He then attempted to put his game face back on, grabbing a spoon, and heading back to face the music.

“Raspberry,” he said dumbly, holding it up for some sort of inspection as he handed Ian the water and watched him take the pills. He even tore the yogurt lid off and started mixing it with the spoon, as if that simple task were impossible for Ian to do on his own. He wanted to kick himself, but he was stuck on some kind of autopilot.

Ian looked more amused than annoyed as he took the plastic cup from him. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” Mickey replied, as Ian started eating. “So, uh… I’m gonna get back to sleepin’ in my room, since you’re all mobile again. Figured I’d leave the bathroom light on for ya, so you don’t trip in the middle of the night.” He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb.

“Mick—”

“You’ll be good, Gallagher. Don’t sweat it.”

Ian set the yogurt container down on the side table. “I’m not worried about that, but—”

“You need anything else before I turn in? I’m kinda beat, man.”

Ian looked up at the time displayed in the corner of the TV and made a face. “It’s not even 8 PM, Mick.”

“Slept like shit last night, and then Mandy was bein’ a pain in my ass earlier.” He scratched his arm, then the back of his neck. Was he fidgeting too much? He was fidgeting too much. He threw a thumb over his shoulder again. “Just gonna… get goin’.”

“Mickey—”

“You need another blanket? I’m gonna take mine back, but I can leave that one from the closet. And the extra pillows. It’s fine, I just need one.”

“Will you just—”

“Got your crutches right here,” he interrupted again, adjusting said crutches where they leaned against the wall near the bedside. Then he bent down to straighten Ian’s comforter around him, as was his new weird habit.

He tucked him in on his bad side, then leaned over to tuck him in on his good side, and before he knew what was happening, Ian’s hand was against the back of Mickey’s neck, and then Ian’s lips were pressing up into his.

It was soft and chaste, and completely unexpected; the shock registering on Mickey’s face when they broke apart.

“Will you just shut the fuck up?” whispered Ian, smoothing his thumb over Mickey’s cheek with a little grin.

“Okay,” Mickey said, nodding and leaning back down to let it happen again.

They kissed for a second time, their mouths more sure, interlocking perfectly, and the tip of Ian’s tongue ghosted over Mickey’s plump bottom lip as he pulled away.

“Now get in the fucking bed,” Ian ordered, releasing his grip on Mickey’s neck.

There was no choice but to comply, so he walked around to the other side and laid down beneath the covers, scooting in as close as he dared.

Ian grimaced as he shimmied himself onto his side so they could face each other, and placed his hand on Mickey’s hip as they looked deeply into one another’s eyes.

“How’d you know?” asked Mickey.

“How’d I know what?”

Mickey rolled his eyes, lightly slapping at Ian’s chest. “Don’t play coy, motherfucker.”

Ian snickered. “Okay, fine. I might’ve overheard you and Mandy in the living room earlier.”

Mickey raised his head off the pillow. “How the hell did you manage that?”

“Like you said, I’ve been crutching around on my own, and I guess when I heard my name, I got curious and sorta… hid behind the wall in the hallway and listened in.”

Mickey closed his eyes tight and flushed with embarrassment. “I don’t know how much you heard, but she’s the one who brought it up and made it into a thing. I didn’t even think about it at all until she said something. I still don’t fuckin’ know what the hell it means.”

“What what means?” said Ian, taking Mickey’s hand, caressing the back of it.

“Any of it,” shrugged Mickey.

“Don’t you wanna know what I think?”

“That I’m a big queer?”

“Lucky for me, but weren’t you wondering how I feel about _you_?”

“I suppose the thought crossed my mind a few million times in the last few hours, yeah. And then you fuckin’ kissed me.”

Ian chuckled, running his hand higher up Mickey’s arm. “Well, you were being so weird, and I knew why, so I just did what felt natural. Cuz I feel the same way about you. A little confused, since we’ve never really tried to make this romantic or sexual before, but mostly just happy. You’ve been so good to me since I’ve been laid up, and I’m not gonna lie, since you and everybody else have barely left me alone for 5 minutes in this room and I haven’t even showered on my own, I’ve been horny as fuck.” They both laughed. “The other day when you popped that boner, it was all I could do not to reach over and start stroking you off.”

“That woulda been interesting.”

“Anyway, I’m not saying I like want you for sex, I just mean that when that happened, I kinda put two and two together. I’ve had like eons of time to think about things since I’ve been in this bed, and your stupid erection gave me clarity. I knew that I wanted you. And that the feelings that had been building up… you lookin’ after me… nursin’ me back to health… yellin’ at my sisters and Mandy and having my back… I understood what it meant. So today when I heard you admit you felt _something_… it was just a matter of time before I made you act on it.”

Mickey screwed his face up. “So this doesn’t feel… _weird_ to you?”

“Not at all. Why? You having second thoughts?”

“No. But look at you… you’re still all… fucked up.”

They laughed again.

“I’ve for sure been stir-crazy, but I’m in my right mind,” Ian said, knocking at his head. “So… you’re gonna stay in here… with me. And we’re gonna cuddle and make out until I pass out on you. And tomorrow you’re gonna touch my dick. Please. And then when I get the all clear from the doc, I’m gonna rock your world.”

Mickey snorted. “So in this scenario you’ve dreamt up, I’m just jerkin’ your cock all willy-nilly, and you just sit back and relax and don’t lay a hand on me?”

“I think we can probly improvise an amenable arrangement,” Ian answered, leaning in and tracing his tongue over Mickey’s irresistible pink lips. “I’ll take care of your willy.”

“Oh god, shut up,” Mickey ordered, covering Ian’s mouth with his own once more, pulling him closer as gingerly as he could.

They ran their hands all over each other as they kissed. Mickey had never done this before, with anyone. Just lied there in bed lazily making out, with genuine emotions surging through him, and no ulterior sexual motives to be exploited. It was surprisingly nice, and true to Ian’s word, they stayed tangled up like that until he’d conked out mid-tongue twister.

Mickey tittered to himself and rolled Ian over into his usual doctor-approved position, tucking him in properly like he’d intended earlier. But this time he didn’t have to work to keep his body on his own side of the bed. This time he allowed himself to press up against Ian’s side like it was where he was meant to be. Like he really fit there.

And maybe he did.

  


  


*******

**The End**

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos.
> 
> Follow here: [Tumblr](http://thevioletjones.tumblr.com/)


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